twenty-nineMac dreamed of sunshine filtering through his bedroom window. Warm on his face, warm on Robin’s, but it was a dream of richer times. When he woke, he dragged his left hand across his face to smooth away his swollen sleep. The warm sun wasn’t there anymore. Robin wasn’t there, either.
He lay on his side, on a couch, in the orange room. Zumpo snored his life away on the other. The television had been left on all night. Mac, rose to a sitting position and realized his temples ached, and a pulse beat in his eyeballs. Standing made it worse. He bent his head forward and took three experimental steps towards his bedroom. When he reached it at last and opened the door, Robin wasn’t there. The bed had been slept in. He assumed that she was up and about, probably in the industrial stren
